Of Saints and Sinners
by Scotch
Summary: After Shay is injured and the Morrigan is wrecked, the Templars start to lose their grip on the colonies. Shay works with Haytham on a plot to eradicate the Assassins while he recovers, but their platonic relationship soon evolves into something else entirely. As the Assassins' plans grow bolder, an ancient secret forces both sides to agree on an ultimatum: Unite, or perish.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ** I own nothing, just some OCs.

**Warnings:** Spoilers galore for Assassin's Creed III, Black Flag, Forsaken and Rogue. Explicit m/m sexual content, lots of violence, some angst. Might need to add more later, but it's definitely going to have these things at some point.

**Notes: **Sorry if there's mistakes, I don't have a beta. I'm pretty sure I got most of them. Please comment, I would really like to know what you think of my work.

I wouldn't call this AU, but it doesn't fit into a specific time frame/story arc in the games except that it takes place vaguely after Shay kills Liam, but before Haytham knows about Connor. ...'Cause I don't think he knew at the time Shay was working with him? IDFK, I need to read Forsaken again to get my timelines straight.

* * *

**Chapter 1:** A Hunt Gone Foul

* * *

"Full sail! Hit her with the mortar if you can!" Shay shouted over the roar of the waves, and a particularly vicious gust of chill wind. His breath rose in clouds before him, and he clenched the _Morrigan's _wheel tightly in his gloved hands that were numb from the cold. He only had half his usual crew. More than a few of them had died from exposure to the harsh elements, but still Shay pressed on. If nothing else, their quarry couldn't possibly be doing any better. Besides, the _Aquila _didn't even have an ice ram. If she ran up on a sheet of ice, she was as good as gone.

Regardless, nothing short of his own death would stop Shay from putting an end to the 'Ghost of the North Seas' and her crew. One by one, she'd taken out the entire Templar fleet – aside from the _Morrigan. _This was their last chance to put the _Aquila_ out of commission. Naturally, Shay hadn't thought much of it – he'd taken out an entire french fleet. One ship was didn't give him much cause for concern, other than wandering why Haytham didn't send the _Morrigan _in the first place.

Shay held his breath as the men fired the mortars – and missed. He'd expected that; the _Aquila_ was fast. She wasn't built for these conditions, but her speed and maneuverability weren't to be underestimated. Nor, infuriatingly enough, was her captain's obvious skill. Still, it had the desired effect of slowing the _Aquila_ down a notch when dodging the blasts sent her off course.

"Charge her!" Shay yelled, the second the _Aquila _was in range. That was when it all went very, very wrong. Another strong gust of wind filled the sails. It was powerful enough to knock a couple of the crew from the rigging and into the freezing water. There was no hope of saving them. Shay swore bitterly under his breath as he heard their screams, and the words died on his lips as the anger and adrenaline was replaced with pure horror.

The gust came from the wrong direction. Instead of launching the _Morrigan _forward to ram the stern of the _Aquila, _it sent her straight toward a towering glacier. Shay desperately steered her hard to starboard to try and it miss it, but it wasn't enough – the gust was too strong and the _Morrigan _had gathered too much speed to evade easily. Shay was thrown forward by the force of the impact – right into Gist, and over the railing onto the deck below. Shay closed his eyes and moaned as the hull splintered into pieces and the _Morrigan _immediately began listing forward as the Atlantic began to claim her. He was pretty sure Gist was dead judging by the way he hit his head when he landed, but Shay had bigger problems.

"How did this happen?" Shay groaned, gripping the wooden planks beneath him in a desperate attempt to find purchase on the heavily titling ship, the sound of cracking wood ringing in his ears. At least five of the remaining crew members had been killed by the impact. To make matters worse, The _Aquila _had came up alongside the Morrigan. They were planning to board her, knowing she wouldn't sink entirely because of the shallow water she'd run into.

There was Faulkner, at the helm with an Assassin Shay didn't know beside him. He hated to admit it, but he certainly had gained a healthy respect for their best sailor.

"Damn!" Shay hissed, pulling himself upright as the _Morrigan _finally hit the shelf of ice just below the water's surface and stopped sinking. He locked eyes with the female Assassin as the _Aquila's _crew took out what was left of Shay's with their guns, carefully avoiding him. _So that's how it __ends__, _Shay thought miserably as the Assassin jumped the gap between them and landed gracefully on the _Morrigan_'s splintered, buckling deck. _Might as well kill as many of them as I can._

"I'm taking you bastards with me!" Shay roared and drew his sword. Only, he didn't make his own luck that day. ...Not in the slightest. A massive wave rocked the _Morrigan_, just as Shay leaped for his adversary. He lost his footing, and the angle was all wrong. Instead of lunging sword first, he stumbled and fell on top of the Assassin who'd managed to find her balance and caught Shay right in the chest with one of her hidden blades as they both crashed to the ground in an awkward heap. Shay coughed up blood and sagged to the deck.

"You'll regret this day – when you're dying in a ditch with a city burning behind you and innocent blood on your hands!" He wheezed, looking up at the dark-skinned, possibly native Assassin. "I only wish I -" Whatever it was Shay wanted to say never came, as he coughed violently and went still. The Assassin wordlessly turned her back on the apparently dead Templar, and returned to the _Aquila._

* * *

"Shay? Shay can you hear me?" Haytham. Yeah, he knew that voice. Why was he so cold, with his breath coming in strained, ragged gasps? Shay tasted blood in his mouth, and wondered if he'd gone back in time to when he threw himself off that cliff at the homestead. He sure felt like it.

"He's unresponsive, Sir. Honestly I'm not sure if he'll live through the night. Even if he does, he won't exactly be out of the woods." That was Church, Shay knew. The most unreasonably expensive doctor in Boston, who happened to be a Templar, that Haytham obviously didn't trust as far as he could throw him. "If it's any consolation, he _might _live. There isn't anything important damaged other than his right lung, but it'll heal with time if he takes it easy. It's the blood loss and infection I'm worried about."

"That's hardly reassuring, but do what you must to keep him alive. We _need_ him." Haytham snapped in an threatening, icy tone that might have actually made Shay soil himself if it had been directed at him. He wished he could open his eyes to see Church's face, it must have been hilarious.

"I'm not God, Sir, but I'll do what I can." Benjamin grumbled and stalked out of the room. Shay doubted he'd _ever _heard someone speak so condescendingly to the Grand Master, and he had a feeling Church would pay for it later. "I need to fetch some supplies to do this right. Stay here and keep pressure on the wound, or have Thomas do it if you're afraid you'll soil your cuffs."

Haytham muttered something, but must have done as he was told – judging by the sharp pain that lanced through Shay's chest as he felt Haytham's hands holding a soft towel over what Shay was sure had to be a wicked, most likely infected, puncture wound.

"Shay, you utter fool. You are not permitted to die just yet. We have a lot of work ahead of us." Haytham said and heaved a sigh. Shay tried to move, open his eyes or least give some kind of sign that he was aware of Haytham's presence. Instead, he completely lost consciousness when Haytham adjusted the towel soaked with his blood.

Haytham couldn't help but wonder how this had happened – The _Morrigan _and her entire crew obliterated, aside from Shay and Gist. Gist would be fine, he had gotten away with only a mild concussion and a bit of frostbite that had since healed. Shay... Shay was a mess. Luckily, Gist wasn't out for long and had the sense to try and stop Shay from bleeding out. A British Navy patrol found the wreck a few hours later and took them aboard on their way back to New York. Gist had been able to find Johnson and Church at the base in Greenwich, and Shay was taken there. Haytham had been in Manhattan, stalking a gang leader, when Gist found him.

Haytham decided that he would have to get in touch with Cook. Perhaps the Navy could deal with the _Aquila _if he could convince them that it was a threat_._ Obviously, the only way to take her out would be with sheer numbers or a blockade. For a man who was dead to the world, Achilles was proving to be one hell of a thorn in Haytham's side. He _knew _he should have just shot the bastard, but Shay was right. They weren't monsters; they had to be capable of mercy. No matter. The next time Achilles crossed blades with Haytham Kenway, he was a dead man.

* * *

The first thing Shay was aware of was the sound of birds singing nearby. The second, a pleasant spring breeze as it played across his face and tugged at his hair that had been left unbound. There was a dull ache in his chest, too. He felt cold as well, and his breath came in short, labored gasps. Vacantly, he wondered if he'd actually managed to die this time because he was pretty sure he had at least one foot in the grave. Uncertainly, he opened his eyes – and squinted against the bright late morning sunlight. He knew where he was, at least, when his vision cleared. He recognized the red velvet drapes, left open exposing the view of the docks nearby, and the richly decorated spacious room. It was his quarters in the Templar's armory base in New York, that he'd taken from the gang that had gotten ahold of the _Morrigan_.

...The _Morrigan._

Memories came back in flashes: Gist hitting his head on the ship's railing with a sickening crack as Shay was thrown into him. ...The sound of splintering wood, and icy wind in his face. He gasped and carefully placed a hand over the thick bandaging on his chest. Suddenly, it all hurt a bit more and he let his head fall back to the pillow in agony. How had he gotten here? He could remember snatches of Haytham conversing with Church. ...Church must have patched him up, as good as possible anyway.

The sound of footsteps slowly approaching from the hall outside Shay's room brought him back to reality. He swallowed the panic and feigned sleep to the best of his ability as the partially closed door swung open with a creak.

"How is he?" He heard a familiar voice ask. So, Gist _had _survived the fall.

"Benjamin seems fairly certain that he'll recover. It will take time, however. Months at best." This was Haytham.

"Honestly, I'm surprised Church is still breathing, given the way he spoke to you." Gist replied, chuckling.

"So am I." Haytham retorted with a complete lack of humor, and Shay felt a light, surprisingly warm touch on his cheek. "At least the fever seems to have passed." Haytham commented.

"True, true. If he kicks the bucket now, we'll never get the upper hand back." Gist said dismally. "Well, I'm off the to the pub. There's talk about one of the gangs getting their hands on some kind of artifact. I'd better see what I can find out. Hickey's looking into the black market for us in case something turns up."

"Good luck, hopefully it's something we can use this time." Haytham told him.

"Do wake him up, would you? _Someone_ needs to say something about making our own luck." Gist said tartly and left as Haytham chuckled quietly. Shay only heard one set of footsteps retreating though, one of them was still in the room.

"You aren't unconscious, are you?" Haytham asked, once Gist was out of earshot. Shay's eyes fluttered open and he gave the Grand Master a weak smile.

"Depends how you define it. I've been lying here wondering if I'm actually dead and just don't know it yet." Shay mumbled, not quite trusting himself to speak.

"What happened out there? Gist's told me most of it, but I want it in your words." Haytham asked, straight the point. Shay could work with that. He never did like sympathy.

"Had the _Aquila_ in ramming distance, but the Morrigan was at full sail and got hit with a rogue wind. I couldn't steer her away from the iceberg fast enough. I lost most of the crew in the impact, there wasn't any left to put up a proper fight when they boarded us. The one that got me, I don't know her. I think she was native, very fast and nimble. When I lost my balance from the deck heaving, she still managed to skewer me." Shay explained, his voice hoarse from disuse. ...And coughing up blood in his sleep.

"I'm sorry that I failed you. It won't happen again. I swear on my life." Shay added as an afterthought.

"None of that, now. I would rather have you fail and live to rectify it, than be returned to me as a corpse. Your services have been nothing short of a blessing." Haytham told him with a dismissive gesture. "Still, the Assassins now have a distinct advantage."

Shay felt oddly relived that Haytham wasn't disappointed in him. He wasn't sure why, but his fear of letting the man down and seeing the disapproval in his eyes was second only to his fear of death itself. Why he hungered for Haytham's praise so deeply was beyond him. ...Especially when the closest he'd ever gotten to such a thing was a comment he wasn't meant to overhear about how 'thanks to Shay's efforts', the Templars now had a firm grasp on the Colonies delicate politics. Not that it was relevant anymore. They might still control the flow of such things for the time being, but the Assassins now had the undisputed rule of the seas in the area.

"Was the _Morrigan_ salvageable?" Shay inquired, already dreading the answer.

"According to Gist, not in the slightest. The Navy doctor they had on-board that kept you alive, and brought you here, said the same." Haytham told him sadly.

"Beelzebub's balls!" Shay swore and closed his eyes. "The crew?" Haytham only shook his head, and rolled his eyes at Shay's swearing. He'd like to think he'd whipped the Irishman into shape as far as his manners were concerned, but there will still times that Shay's etiquette (or lack thereof), left something to be desired.

"You have been mostly unconscious for over three weeks, if you were wondering." Haytham informed him, with a smirk. "Not much has happened – except that we lost Weeks. Gist found his body at the docks a few nights past. Definitely a hidden blade, but we haven't been able to track down the Assassin responsible, and I have no idea what Weeks was even doing there at the time. He must have been acting on his own."

"Hmm." Shay muttered noncommittally. Staying awake was getting to be a major effort. Haytham obviously noticed and frowned in concern.

"...Shay?" He asked as the ex-Assassin faded back into his coma-like state. Haytham honestly doubted if he'd remember them speaking at all. He'd been conscious a few times since Church had treated the wound properly, but he never seemed to remember anything said. This had been the longest he'd been awake, but he was also by far the most coherent. _He'll pull through, he always does,_ Haytham thought to himself, looking down at the sleeping man. Sighing quietly, Haytham tucked Shay's blankets back around his shoulders from where he'd managed to shrug them off.

It had been a rough burden to bear, becoming the Grand Master of the colonial rite and establishing a base for Templar power in the new world. It was only getting harder as time went on. Haytham wondered every time he sent one of his one of his men out on a job, if they'd come back alive or in a coffin. It genuinely pained him to see Shay like this. He'd honestly taken him for granted, as some kind of invincible super-human creature. Shay had been shot, stabbed, kicked off rooftops and God only knew what else, but he always just got back up on his feet and carried on. He'd lick his wounds later, if at all. This time, not so much. He was hanging onto life by a thread, and would have been well on the way to recovery by now, if the wound hadn't been so badly infected by the time he and Gist made it back to New York. He was doing better now, though. The infection was gone and he was no longer feverish.

Haytham couldn't bear the thought of losing him. He didn't know why, just that if they lost Shay then they lost the war. He had become something an icon to the Templars in America. They hoped they could be half the man he was, and all he wanted was to protect the people who couldn't protect themselves. He had his faults, like a mouth that could make a pirate blush if he was in a foul mood, but Shay was a good man when it mattered. Noble, even.

Standing over his sickbed wouldn't get anything done, though. The game had gotten a lot harder with their metaphorical attack dog out of commission. But therein was part of the problem, Haytham was sure, he needed to start thinking of Shay as person rather than his personal secret weapon. He knew what he was sending Shay into when he ordered him to go after the _Aquila;_ he'd just been banking on Shay's uncanny luck to save his arse. Obviously, that hadn't gone as expected.

"Rest well." Haytham said fondly enough to make himself question where all this pathetic sentimentality was coming from.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: ** The Native American Assassin that shanked Shay is not Ziio, she's an OC and we will see her again later. Just putting that out there since I've had a couple comments on it. Ziio and Connor will be in the story, though!

On an unrelated note, I am _thoroughly_ disappointed that no-one has rule 34'd this pairing yet, or Shay at all for that matter. Someone needs to draw some Shaytham porn. :c Do it, for the greater good!

* * *

**Chapter 2:** The Definition of Courage

* * *

"Sir, about the French troops, we need to -"

"Not now, Charles." Haytham snapped, briskly side-stepping past a somewhat indignant Charles lee on his way outside. He had more important things to worry about than the damn French stepping on King George's toes. ...Like Gist and Hickey, who had so far turned out to be completely _worthless_ at doing Shay's job at tracking the Assassins. Haytham was utterly convinced that the rumors circulating through the black market about a strange artifact found in a nearby cave had been nothing but a lark, meant to draw the Templars like flies to a dung pile. The worst part, was that it had worked. Shay wouldn't have been so easily deceived, but Hickey and Gist had bought it hook, line and sinker.

Haytham just hoped they weren't dead. Thomas was an idiot, but he was loyal and had his heart in the right place. Gist, well, suffice to say that it would be far too quiet without him around.

Charles was still hurrying after Haytham and chattering about the French as the Grand Master waved him off absently, and hopped up onto his white mare. He adjusted his cape, and sighed in irritation.

"Charles, for pity's sake do something _useful_. Scout the streets for information about the Assassins, intercept their carrier pigeons, anything. Just _please_, get your priorities in order. Without Shay, they will grow bolder and we won't see them coming until it's too late." Haytham berated him. Charles just sort of floundered for a moment, completely taken aback by the outburst. It was very unlike Haytham. Charles opened and closed his mouth a couple times, failing to come up with a proper response.

"Good luck, Sir." He finally said flatly, already aware that Haytham was leaving to try and find Hickey and Gist who had been missing for two days.

"I think I ought to try making my own luck." Haytham replied, and lead his mare out of the grounds of the armory. Charles watched him go, seething after his rather embarrassing chastisement. It annoyed him to no end – the hoops he had to jump through before he was welcomed into the order, and then Shay just came along and... Charles shook his head and wandered back inside. He had no reason to doubt Shay's loyalty, it was just the fact that Haytham obviously trusted him more than the rest of them combined that drove Charles up a wall. He didn't have anything against Shay personally, but the way Haytham would just drop everything and run to his bedside like a besotted woman -

Charles stopped in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at Haytham who was now only a speck in the distance. ..._It couldn't be, that is preposterous._

* * *

Thomas squirmed slightly against the ropes holding his hands tightly behind his back. He couldn't help thinking that this wouldn't be so bad if he were at least a little drunk. Hell, he might even enjoy being tied up under the right circumstances. ...Which hopefully wouldn't include Gist squatting next to him in a fit of silent rage in a damp makeshift prison that reeked of mildew. Honestly, he wasn't sure which was worse, Gist loudly (and drunkenly) bragging about that tavern waitress he'd had his way with the night before, or him staring at Thomas with his lips pursed and anger flaming in his eyes.

"If it makes it any better, this ain't entirely my fault." Thomas drawled. "It was you who done the eavesdropping."

"And it was _you _who thought it would be a good idea to run into their stronghold, guns blazing!" Gist hissed, kicking Thomas in the shin.

"Shut up in there!" A guard shouted a ways down the hall, "Or I'll cut out you ton – Urgh!" Both Thomas and Gist tensed automatically at the sound of something wet hitting the wall and the unmistakable sound of a dead body dropping to the floor with a muffled thump. Their eyes met in uncertainty. That didn't make any sense. The Assassins had them, didn't they? They wanted to try to extort information from them, so why kill their own? Gist's first thought was of Shay, but that was impossible since the ex-Assassin in question was still confined to bed rest and spent most of the day in a deathlike slumber. He was coherent enough to complain about being bored when he was awake, and remembered conversations now at least. ...But he definitely wasn't up to infiltrating an underground stronghold, built in an abandoned mine, that he didn't even know existed.

Gist shoved Thomas aside and peered through the rusty iron grating that blocked off the small, dank dirt and rock cell they were being held in. He couldn't make anything out in the semi-darkness. He could hear footsteps coming in their direction – a guard that strode past them, completely ignoring their existence until -

"You there! State your busi-" Another wet thump, followed by very uncharacteristic incensed swearing in a familiar voice that made Thomas and Gist want to attempt to dig their way out with their bare hands, if it meant avoiding the owners rage. ...Especially since they were positive they'd never seen him _this_ angry before.

"You _idiots_!" Haytham growled, staring at them through the prison bars as he pulled his lockpick from his jacket pocket and set to work on the old lock. He gave up and just broke it with the butt of his gun instead, rusty as it was. "You have a lot of explaining to do – after we paint these walls with their blood. If we hurry, we _might_ be able to find the Assassin in charge before he flees." Haytham snapped, cutting their bonds and shoving the dead guards' rifles into their hands. Thomas and Gist nodded fervently and scrambled to their feet after Haytham who was already leaving them behind. There were no guards left in the prison block; Haytham had left a trail of them in his wake. The other two Templars wordlessly stepped over the corpses and followed Haytham's lead.

Sneaking about the place was child's play for Haytham, even with Hickey and Gist making enough noise to wake a drunken sailor. Cautiously, he glanced around a corner – that was when he saw her. Haytham couldn't stop the quiet gasp that escaped his lips, or the cold that pierced his heart. It felt like betrayal, even though he knew he was the traitor where she was concerned.

"Wot is it, boss?" Thomas whispered in his ear. Haytham stomped on his foot. He prayed that the woman wearing well-fitting Assassin's robes, with her golden, grey streaked hair pulled back into a neat braid looking uncertainly in their general direction with sullen eyes wasn't Jenny. It _couldn't _be. Not his sister, not the same woman he'd saved from slavery who Haytham knew would never truly forgive him – not that he really needed her forgiveness. They weren't close, and she'd always looked down on him, but she was the only family he had left. ...And the last thing he thought he was capable of doing was driving a hidden blade into her gut.

"Ma'am, there's no sign of the interloper – other than the mess he made on the front lawn." A male voice said, and a guard rounded the other corner. The woman, who Haytham _refused_ to acknowledge as Jennifer Scott, nodded her head silently. She glanced back in their direction once more, she knew she wasn't hearing things. It if it _was _Jenny, she was too smart for that.

"Good. Search the barracks, don't let them escape." Haytham swore under his breath. There was a good chance they would get caught. The place was a network of tunnels with no clear direction; it was laid out like a spider-web of sorts. He'd only found the holding cells by sticking to the shadows and following the guards as they changed shifts. It had taken hours. The Assassin turned her attention to the retreating guard, and Haytham made a split second decision to take advantage of her distraction. With any luck, he'd never have to know if it was Jenny or not; she didn't speak to him anymore, anyway. She hadn't replied to his letters in ages.

He lunged, grabbed her by the hair and would have impaled her on his hidden blade if she hadn't spun around and kicked him straight in the groin with cat-like reflexes that honestly made Haytham question whether or not she was even human. Luckily, one of the other two must have been paying attention, as a badly aimed shot that took her in the shoulder stopped her from putting an end to Haytham with her own hidden blade. She pinned him to the floor while he reeled from the blow, and pressed a dagger to his throat.

"Haytham." She said, sounding almost sad.

"Jenny." He wheezed, with a polite nod of his head.

"I had honestly hoped one of the others would deal with you, but your attack dog bit most of their heads off already. Pity for you he's dead now. I suppose I'll just have to be the one to kill you now." Jenny told him, watching the corner Thomas and Gist were behind like a hawk.

"Why involve yourself in this battle?" Haytham asked, looking for a way out of her hold and hoping to distract her long enough to seize the opportunity. So they thought Shay to be dead, good.

"Because I have to. There's more at stake than you can possibly know. Goodbye, little brother." Haytham _just _managed to dodge her dagger, kick her hard in the stomach and roll on top of her with his blade at her throat. He could hear Thomas and Gist arguing quietly about what to do – apparently all the ammo they had was the one shot that found its mark in Jenny's shoulder instead of her head. _Use the bayonet__s__, imbecile__s__,_ Haytham thought to himself as Jenny struggled in his grip.

"What's at stake? Tell me!" He demanded. Jenny only shook her head, and gave him her trademark scowl. For the first time in years, Haytham wasn't sure what to do. He should kill her, he knew, she was working for the enemy. Yet, he hesitated. He stared at her with wide eyes, poised to kill, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. In the back of his mind, he hoped Thomas or Gist would get their wits about them and do it for him, cowardly as it was. _This is what it must have felt like for Shay_, Haytham realized, recalling the pain in his eyes when drove his blade through Hope's heart, and how he'd refused to leave his quarters for three days afterward. The worst of it, was how he hadn't been able to stop with her, nor had she been the first – he'd been forced to take the lives of people that were like family to him in service to a cause he truly believed in.

Haytham didn't have that kind of courage, and Jenny knew it. That was why he found himself face-down in the dirt with her foot on his back as she aimed a pistol at the back of his head, but the shot never came. She was bowled to the ground by Thomas, as Gist leaped in with the bayonet. Haytham came to his senses and threw Jenny's discarded dagger in her direction. She evaded all three of them and vanished like smoke on the wind, the dagger wiggling where it stuck in a wood beam supporting the earthen ceiling. In the ringing silence that followed, Haytham stared at his dirt-streaked, bloody hands vacantly and wondered how Shay ever managed to sleep at night. _If _he slept at night.

"...Master Kenway?" Gist asked, jarring Haytham back to reality. He heaved a sigh and turned to his men, who thankfully weren't any worse for the wear.

"Let's get out of here, we'll never catch her – not today anyway." Haytham said, carefully hiding his inner turmoil behind a perfect mask of nonchalance. Next time he would do it, if he couldn't reason with her. He would have to kill her, no matter how much it hurt and haunted him.

Gist and Thomas shared a questioning glance, but didn't voice their opinions as they fell in behind Haytham who led the way. About an hour later, they were outside in the night air – tired, filthy and hungry, but decidedly not dead.

* * *

Shay sighed and sipped at a cup of lukewarm mint tea. He was far from recovered, but at least he could sit up in bed now, and didn't black out at random. He'd finally stopped hacking up blood too; that may have by far been the best improvement in his opinion. Five weeks it had been since the _Morrigan_ sunk. ...Shay was already tired of laying about being useless, but there wasn't much he could do. Just managing to drag himself to the bathroom (with help, mind you), was almost as exhausting as climbing to the top of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Some days, staying awake was an effort all of its own. He actually wondered if the blade had been poisoned, for it to be able to do this much damage. It was a possibility. After the debacle with Hope, he wouldn't put anything past the Assassins. They were desperate to be rid of him, after all.

"Find anything about that artifact you're trying to hunt down?" The ex-Assassin asked in a bored tone.

"Not a thing." Charles complained, looking up from the book he was fingering through. Shay hadn't asked why he had come to talk to him, but he seemed to be trying to fish for information about something. Shay wasn't sure if he should be worried or not, he didn't exactly trust Charles much. "But whatever it is, I don't think they actually possess it yet."

"If it's even real; they could just be trying to goad us, in order to lure us into a trap." Shay suggested. The way Charles flinched made it rather clear that he hadn't even considered that as a theory. He was really terrible at doing the leg work – eavesdropping, gathering intelligence and the like. Haytham was the only one other than Shay that was good at that sort of work. But with Shay in the state he was and Haytham working tirelessly to sort out the mess the Assassins had been making of their order, the others had to pull their weight as best they could.

"Aye, maybe it is a lark." Charles agreed, almost too hopefully. "I need to go report to the Grand Master." He added and swept out of the room, leaving Shay alone with his tea and a pile of books the others had left for him, that he had no desire to read. 'Read a book, would you?', Liam had said in response to Shay having no idea who the infamous pirate Jack Rackham had been. Shay had never really cared much for being idle; now he didn't have a choice.

...But how could Charles report to Haytham if he hadn't returned yet? Shay glanced out the window, worriedly. This nearly pointless conflict had taken almost everyone he'd cared about in the world from him; he wouldn't let it take Haytham's life, too. Not if he could avoid it, anyway.

Irritably, he snatched a book off the top of the pile. Greek Philosophy. He made a face and let it fall to the floor next to his bed as grabbed the next one. The Old Testament. Really? Was that a joke? Shay had little to no faith in God after the nightmare in Lisbon. He bet Charles slipped that in there to remind him of his badly losing a verbal debate about the subject with him. Not that he _lost_, really. He was just bored of it and walked out of the room, opting to train in the yard instead. He tolerated Charles, but they rarely worked together because being in eachother's presence for too long was a catalyst for disaster. If Shay didn't know better, he might have thought Charles was jealous of him for some unknown reason.

"Damn me." Shay groaned and settled for cracking open the cover of the _The_ _Canterbury Tales_. About five pages in, he snapped it shut and held his head in his hands. It was torture; it _had_ to be. A light knocking on his closed bedroom door drew Shay out of his fast approaching mental breakdown. "Yes?" He asked, clearing his throat and trying his best to put on a mask of calm as he heard the doorknob turn. He knew who was on the other side. One does not simply train for years to be an assassin without being able to manage that much. No two people sound quite the same when they knock on a door. That being said, the three quiet, yet sharp evenly spaced raps on the oaken surface suggested confidence and poise – a pattern he'd learned to identify with Haytham.

"How are you feeling today?" Haytham asked as strode into the room, carrying a silver tray with more tea and some fancy little cakes from the bakery nearby. He looked tired, and the air near him smelled faintly of some sort of perfumed soap. He must have just finished cleaning up after sorting out whatever trouble Thomas and Gist managed to land themselves in.

"Like death, but I'm beginning to think it's not so bad. I haven't eaten this well in years." Shay said with a smile. That was true, really. Food wasn't high on his priority list, it was just a necessity and not something he put much thought into. Thinking about it, the last time he'd had anything like the little cakes Haytham brought had been when he was a small child. But now, the others had brought him all manner of treats and he'd had more decent meals in the last week than he'd managed in a year.

"You sound a bit more like yourself. That being said, I was wondering if you might be feeling up to a bit of... Well, doing my job. Gist and Thomas are utterly _worthless _at gathering intelligence discreetly, which mean I'll just have to do it myself. But, I can't do that _and_ be the brains behind this operation. There just are not enough hours in the day." Haytham explained, pouring himself a cup of tea. It was the good kind – straight from England and probably cost more than Shay wanted to think about, but Haytham wouldn't touch anything else with a ten foot pole; he was _very _particular about his tea.

"I'll do what I can, Sir." Shay said, eager to be back to some kind of work. He welcomed the distraction. His thoughts kept drifting dangerously to his fallen friends, and the guilt threatened to swallow him whole.

"Excellent. I'll put you to work,first thing tomorrow." Haytham said with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. He patted Shay on the shoulder and left him, meandering back into his own rooms.

He flopped down into his ornate red velvet chair near the writing desk, and leaned forward with his face in his hands. How could he ever kill Jenny? She always said that their father would be ashamed that his son was a Templar, but Haytham figured he'd be more ashamed that he was trying to find the mettle to murder his sister. She could have killed him, though. She had more than one chance, and Haytham was sure she knew it. Next time, she wouldn't let him live. That was a given, and this was only a courtesy – all debts paid. ...Not unlike the situation that led up to the death of Braddock.

He wasn't afraid for his life, only his sanity. The last thing he'd do would be to ask the others for advice – Hickey would suggest alcohol, Gist ale and a whore, Charles would tell him to drown himself in his work, and Shay... Haytham honestly hadn't the faintest idea what Shay would tell him. He'd joke occasionally with Gist about the women they'd bedded, but Haytham had never seen Shay with a woman and he only ever spoke of them in the past tense. He'd always just assumed the Assassin hunter simply didn't have the time for such frivolities, working himself to the bone the way he normally did.

...Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask, he knew Shay at least wouldn't think any less of him and he needn't walk on eggshells around him like he did the others.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** There is going to be a lot more action and ass-kicking shortly, I promise! I should also add that this is going to be pretty canon divergent in the near future where Connor is concerned. Can't really say more without spoiling it. :c

* * *

**Chapter 3:** Ghosts of the Past

* * *

Shay tapped his fingers absently on the lacquered wooden surface of Haytham's writing desk. He was running out of energy fast, but he was determined to finish what needed to be done before he passed out from exhaustion. He poured over the old, age stained map spread out on the desk. Johnson was sitting in the chair across from him, thumbing through the ledger as he added up their accounts, something else that Haytham normally took care of. William was there mostly in case Shay needed anything, seeing as he was still mostly under the weather. Even now, he was mostly propped up in Haytham's chair with a pile of pillows. It may have been a bad idea, judging by how sore he was, but Shay knew he'd lose his mind if he spent another afternoon staring at the ceiling doing sod all. At least he could more or less walk on his own now.

He didn't know what Haytham was trying to find, though – just that it had to be a precursor site. Shay shook his head and turned the small stone medallion over in his fingers. It felt warmer than it should as he pressed it into his palm and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. Tiredly, he rubbed his eyes and slipped the leather string holding Haytham's piece of Eden over his head. He'd been given strict instructions to protect it with his life, and the last thing he wanted to do was lose the blasted thing. The maps, Shay rolled up and shoved aside. As far as he could tell, he wouldn't be able to find anything without recent intelligence. It didn't help that Haytham had mostly given up on it, himself. He'd just passed the project onto to Shay to give him something to occupy himself with, and no harm done if he didn't come up with anything. In other words, it wasn't a priority. Regardless, Shay was insatiably curious about it – not to mention eager to please the Grand Master, even if he really didn't have anything to prove at this point.

_Well, back to the important things,_ Shay told himself and smoothed out a much newer map that Haytham had painstakingly hand drawn on a sheet of fine vellum. It was the locations of known Assassin encampments, and lairs belonging to the local gangs that were often funded by the Assassins that were scattered across the frontier. Carefully, Shay dipped a pen in the inkwell and added in the abandoned mine. He was noticing a pattern now; the locations they had chosen couldn't possibly be accidental. Curiously, Shay frowned and ran his fingers through his hair.

"William, is there any tracing vellum in here? Or some other sort of thin paper you can see through?" Shay asked. William nodded silently, and laid his own pen down in the center of the open ledger.

"I'll get it for you." He said and walked to a large cabinet on the other side of the room. Shay watched as William carefully pulled a few sheets of the this vellum from a package wrapped in thick brown paper on the top shelf. Shay laid it over the top of the map and began tracing lines between the dots marking the locations of the camps that specifically belonged to the Assassins.

"I'll be damned." The older man breathed in astonishment as a perfectly proportioned five pointed star began to take form. When it was done, the only missing section was the the very top point. Shay drew it in on the tracing paper and labeled it with a question mark. Taking the next sheet of tracing paper, he did the same with the gang bases. These were also in a pattern, and took on the shape of cross – the Templar cross of all things.

"It's a message, obviously." Shay mused, "But what are they trying to tell us?"

"It's probably not meant for us." Johnson replied, laying the previous sketch on top of the other one. "There must be something there." He added, and pointed a spot that landed dead center in the middle of both the cross and star. Shay nodded and marked it on the sketch, also with a question mark. It wasn't much, but it would give Haytham something to look into. Maybe it was the location of a precursor site?

"Right then, now that's done..." Shay said to himself, and pulled a small leather bound journal from the stack of books next to him. The book was a list of all known and operating Assassins, and any information they had on them. 'Jennifer Scott' he copied as neatly as he could manage, from a slip of parchment Haytham had written the details on. The words looked like chicken scratch next to Haytham's immaculate penmanship, and Shay cursed himself internally for never putting more effort into learning how to write _properly_. He hesitated as he read the next lines of Haytham's tidy scrawl. His sister_. _She was his half-sister.

Well, that certainly explained Haytham's unusually subdued demeanor that morning. ...He was getting a first-hand taste of the guilt Shay had lived with for years now, and he trying to figure out how he was going to live with himself after he drove a dagger through her throat, or willingly gave someone else the means to do it in his place. Shay knew Haytham would do what had to be done, he just hoped it wouldn't kill him. ...Which it very well might, considering the only thing he'd listed under her skills was 'Embroidery?'.

Apparently she'd also spent several years as a bed slave in the Ottoman empire, so she was probably very good at using her body to get her way with men. Shay knew it wasn't his place to ask, but the more he read, the more curious he became. It made him realize that he knew next to nothing about Haytham's past, other than that his father was an Assassin, and an infamous pirate. But knowing that his sister had once been a slave, it made him wonder if there was something horribly tragic behind it all. With a resigned sigh, he closed the book. He didn't want to ask Haytham about Jennifer, but if he wound up targeting her once he was back on his feet, he'd need something more than questionable talent with embroidery as a lead. Hopefully, for Haytham's sake, it wouldn't come to that. ...Maybe she could be reasoned with.

With the maps and records updated, Shay checked the list Haytham left him. The only thing left on it was to tally the ledger, which William was almost done with. Not willing to go back to his room that was starting to feel like a prison cell just yet, he opened another worn leather journal. This one was Haytham's notes on the amulet, that his research suggested was some kind of key. He didn't have a translation of the runes on it, though.

"That thing is a dead end. He just passed it on to you to kill time, probably. It's to Haytham what that damned box is to you – Something he was ordered to find, but has nearly no hope of doing just that." William said, noticing what Shay was looking at. "I spent more time than I like to think about trying to translate the writing on it, and none of my contacts in the local tribes knew either. Still, it was the reason Haytham was sent to the colonies, so I doubt he'll ever _truly_ give up on it."

"Hmm. Perhaps I've overdone it." Shay muttered, thinking again that he really did know next to nothing about Haytham's past. "I should rest."

"I'll help you to your room." William offered, and held out his arm for Shay to pull himself to his feet.

* * *

Haytham returned to the Templar headquarters some time after sunset that night (about a week after he'd left to track down a lead), with an old wooden crate full of battered books in his hands. Luckily, no one was around to bother him. He doubted he'd be in a particularly tolerant mood, given how tired he was. He was about to leave a note for Shay with the co-ordinates of another Assassin encampment he'd found in the woods, when he saw a slip of parchment penned in Johnson's tidy handwriting laying in the center of the desk. 'Check your maps, Shay has found something of interest.', it said. Curiously, Haytham sat the crate of books down on the floor and pulled his maps out of the desk drawer.

It didn't take him long to figure out what they'd found, once he'd unfolded the sheets of tracing vellum Shay had sketched the pattern on. Haytham mentally berated himself for not catching on sooner. Right at the tip of the star was location of the encampment he'd raided earlier that week, and had been intending to leave for Shay to mark on the map. His eyes slid to spot in the center. Shay was probably right to assume there was a reason the two patterns overlayed one-another there.

"Sir, if you have a moment." Haytham looked up to see Charles in the doorway behind him. He looked a little irritated, which never boded well for Haytham's patience. He was sure the next thing that would come out of the man's mouth would be some kind of irrelevant complaint about the weather, or that Thomas' snoring kept him awake at night. Really, Charles' only redeeming feature was his devotion to the Temple cause, and the fact that he followed any order without question – to the letter. For that, Haytham was willing to put up with almost anything. Truly loyal men weren't easy to come by.

"What is it, Charles?" Haytham asked wearily, writing in the location of the Assassin camp on the map that Shay had already pin-pointed for him. He knew Shay was efficient, but he'd had his doubts about how well he would handle this sort of work. ...Doubts that were apparently unfounded, though his penmanship could use no small amount of improvement.

"Benjamin is away on business tonight, and he cannot see to cleaning Shay's wounds. He's left us instructions, but Shay won't let any of us touch him. Perhaps you could try." Charles explained sheepishly.

Haytham snorted, and very nearly laughed. He couldn't blame Shay, really. John, Thomas and William were the only ones around at the moment. John was probably the only one that knew a darned thing about treating a wound, but basic skill learned on the battlefield was hardly reassuring. Though, the fact that he let Church do it still threw Haytham for a loop, because he knew Shay wasn't any more fond of the man than he was. But, of course not. Shay fought to protect the common man, while Benjamin charged them more money than they'd ever make to treat minor illnesses. They worked together well when necessary, but no further than that. Shay's ability to swallow his pride just for the sake of getting a job done in favor of his idea of the greater good was admirable, if not downright masochistic. Regardless, it made him all that much more valuable of an asset to the Templar cause.

"I'll see about it in a moment. I need to sort out a few things here." Haytham told him dismissively.

"Very well, Sir." Charles said and left, thankfully getting the hint that Haytham was in a rather foul mood. Thinking about it, he had more than a few scrapes of his own that needed cleaning. ...Being kicked off a ledge into row of rose bushes will do that. His favorite cape was in tatters, and he'd lost his hat somewhere in the damned thorny shrubs. Needless to say, he didn't leave a single man breathing. Not thinking much of it, Haytham threw his overcoat and ruined cape over the chair in his office.

He rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt and knocked three times on Shay's door. He didn't answer. Shaking his head, Haytham pushed the door open to find Shay fast asleep in his bed – with the journal containing his notes on the precursor key propped open in his lap. Haytham smiled to himself and pulled the book from his hands, before lightly shaking him awake.

"'m Sorry. ...Liam." He mumbled, squinting. His eyes met Haytham's and he frowned. "Is something wrong?" He asked more coherently, trying to gather his wits. _Nightmares_, Haytham thought to himself.

"Not particularly. Charles informed me that Benjamin is away and you won't allow any of the others to clean your wound." Haytham said, giving him an accusing glance one might give to a misbehaving child. "I suppose that means I'll have to do it."

Shay raised his eyebrows and pushed himself into a sitting position. He thought about it for a moment, and shook his head in confusion. "I never said that. Though if it had to be one of them, I wouldn't mind letting John do it. Thomas would probably unintentionally kill me somehow, and rather not have to listen to Charles complain that it's disgusting."

"You didn't? That is curious..." Haytham replied.

"Not that I can remember. Though, Charles does seem to be behaving oddly lately – like he's trying to catch me in the middle of some heinous act, and I can't for the life of me figure out what he's hoping to see." Shay said distractedly, and Haytham nodded in agreement. So he'd noticed, too...

On the other side of the door, Charles bit the inside of his cheek until it bled in frustration that they'd noticed a change in his behavior. But what was he to do? Ever since he'd seen the way Haytham doted on Shay, he'd been overcome by curiosity of what type of relationship they _really _had. Cautiously, he pressed his ear to the wall as Haytham pulled the door shut, seemingly oblivious to his presence. But that was why he was so interested: Haytham was distracted. Under normal circumstances he would have turned right around and asked Charles what he needed, and why he was skulking about – in their own headquarters, no less. He _never_ would have been unaware of someone tailing him. Of course, he'd made up the nonsense that Shay wouldn't let them touch him. ...Which had been rather convenient since Church was indeed out on business.

"It doesn't look so bad anymore." Haytham commented, his voice somewhat muted to Charles. Shay either spoke too quietly for him to hear, or ignored the comment. Charles assumed the latter – wrongly.

Inside the room, Shay unceremoniously tugged at Haytham's shirt and pulled him closer. "Charles is listening on the other side of the door." He whispered so that only Haytham could hear him. Haytham glared at him doubtfully, but decided to play along.

"I just need to get some fresh bandages, I'll be but a moment." Haytham said, detaching Shay's hands from his clothes. On the other side of the door, Charles swore quietly and attempted to make a run for it, but Haytham was too quick.

"Evening, Charles. Did you need something?" He asked cordially.

"No, Sir. I was just heading outside for some fresh air." He replied and made a damn good show of walking in the direction of the foyer. Haytham just shook his head and went back into the room when he was gone.

"How did you know he was there? I didn't hear him at all." Haytham inquired with a touch of both annoyance and curiosity. Shay just shrugged noncommittally and shook his head. "Let's just get this done so I can have a bath and take a look at the books I stole from the Assassins." Haytham muttered resignedly.

Shay leaned back and closed his eyes when Haytham went to work. He had to admit, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Shay had gotten to the point of mindlessly dreading when Benjamin would show up in his room next, because it _always _meant pain. ...Not that Shay was a stranger to pain, but he didn't particularly enjoy being miserable, either. Haytham apparently had more practice at this sort of thing than Shay expected, or perhaps he was just more considerate than Church.

When was the last he'd really let anyone touch him for anything other patching up injuries, anyway? ...Not since the weeks after he'd recovered from the fall when he escaped the homestead. As it happened, pointless sex hadn't been as good of a distraction as he'd hoped. He'd turned to focusing entirely on his work instead. It was useful as a catharsis, but he hadn't realized how much he missed...

_Think about something else – that's the Grand Master, not some cheap whore in Havana!_

"Find anything interesting on your trip?" Shay asked, suddenly desperate to occupy his mind with some mundane thought... Rather than how good Haytham's warm, steady touch felt on his bare skin. There was no way that could end well. _None._

"I don't know yet. It seemed to be a research facility mostly. I'm not sure exactly what they were studying, but I have most of their books and maps. With any luck, they'll tell the story for us." Haytham replied, and patted the mostly healed wound dry with a clean cloth. It was the infection that had done the most damage in the end, but Shay would be himself again soon.

"A precursor site maybe?" Shay thought aloud, and sat up so Haytham could wrap the fresh bandages around him more easily.

"I believe so. They're obviously going to great lengths to keep us in the dark. When I encountered Jennifer, she said that there was a lot at stake. I wish I could have gotten her to say more, I have a feeling they're in over their heads." Haytham explained.

"You do realize," Shay said slowly, "That I'll need more to go on than questionable embroidery skills if Ms. Scott becomes target." Haytham bristled visibly and turned his back to Shay as he packed up the medical supplies.

"My sister is _my_ responsibility." He said tartly. "I will be the one to end her life, if there is truly no reasoning with her. No one else, unless I am no longer alive to do it. If that is to be the case, then I would charge you with the task."

"By your orders, Sir." Shay said respectfully and let the subject drop.

"How do you do it, though?" Haytham asked, turning back to Shay looking far more world-weary than the ex-Assassin had ever seen him. "How do you live with the knowledge that it was your blade that ended the lives of people dear to you? Granted, I am not very close to my sister but it does not make it any easier. I've done plenty of horrid things that I regret to no end, but this..."

"Honestly, I don't know what to tell you, Sir. Some days, I wish one of the Assassins would actually succeed in putting me out of my misery." Shay said sadly. "I drown myself in my work, it's the only thing that helps. Every night I see their faces in my dreams and thoughts of them haunt my waking hours. Istill see Hope standing on street corners in Manhattan like she owns the place, and Liam beside me on the _Morrigan – _or at the waterfront. God help me if I ever have to go to Achilles' homestead. I constantly wonder if killing them wasn't the only way. The guilt never really fades; all I can do is tell myself that I don't have a choice. ...That one of us has to atone for what we've done, and if not me – then who?"

"Staying in here by yourself all day must be torture." Haytham said sympathetically.

"That's the word for it, right there." Shay agreed, not willing to meet Haytham's eyes. "You might as well do it yourself; that way there's no one else to blame. I think that would be easier to swallow than living in regret for letting someone else do it, and endlessly wondering if you should have stopped them. Either way, it amounts to the same thing. For your sake, I hope you can make her see reason. ...Or make her death as painless as possible."

"Me too." The Grand Master said sadly. "I am not going to give up hope yet, however."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes:** I sincerely apologize in advance if I have bastardized Native American culture in any way (this is probably more relevant in future chapters). I'm British and far from an expert. I'm just going on how a very good friend of mine (who is Native American), explained some of this to me.

Also adding in some headcannons here (and probably trashing time lines, sorry), because I always wanted to know how Achilles knew Ziio. The _Aquila_'s captain is never really mentioned either (that I can recall), Just that Faulkner was the first mate/acting captain, so I took some liberties with that, too. That being said, hopefully there aren't too many OCs in this, but I figured it was necessary to invent a few new Assassins since Shay kind of eradicated most of them.

Also, I hate this chapter and very well may rewrite it.

* * *

**Chapter 4:** Visiting Old Friends

* * *

Shay felt alive again, at last. Well, that wasn't to say he was not still in pain, but at least he didn't need to be confined to the mansion anymore. He was steady on his feet, and no longer had much trouble breathing due to the injured lung unless he overexerted himself. Cautiously, he flattened himself against a dusty concrete wall belonging to an apothecary shop near the docks in Greenwich. He knew the pair of gang members lazing about in front of the shop couldn't see him. If he tailed them, maybe he could get some kind of clue as to what the Assassins were up to. Haytham hadn't had much luck, other than overhearing some whispers about 'the twins' and a rather feeble plan to undermine the British. It wasn't very useful information, and they had no idea who (or what), the twins were.

"When do you think Cay will make good on that blunder he made in Albany?" One of the gangsters said idly, leaning against an old wooden fence. He was a haggard man, with several missing teeth and a bald head. "He cost us Pierce, and a month's pay."

"Don't be so hard on him." The other said, brushing dirt from his pant leg. This one looked a little presentable, aside from the black patch he wore over one eye that was surrounded by vicious scars. "He took out that Cormac bloke who nearly ran us out of the city, after all. ...And He's the _Aquila__'s _Captain_._" Shay raised his eyebrows. Now, this was interesting. Who was this Cay fellow? He was relatively sure it had been a women that ran him through, and that Faulkner was the _Aquila's_ Captain.

"Aye, true that. But I say we capture his brother, see how he likes it. Maybe he'll remember his place." The first man retorted.

"Ain't much of _he_, though is he? Man acts a bloody woman sometimes." The one wearing the eye patch retorted. Well, that explained it, thought Shay. Honestly, it made him feel a little bit better. Admitting that had gotten his arse handed to him by a woman was incredibly shaming. ...Even though he knew more than a few women who were as good with a blade as he was. He thought of Hope and cringed.

"The natives called him two-spirit. Wonder what that means." The bald-headed criminal muttered. That, Shay knew a little bit about. Two-spirits, as the natives called them, were people who saw themselves as both male _and _female. Once, visiting a village of the Kanien'kehá:ka with Achilles, the clan mother told Shay that she believed he was one such soul. He hadn't thought much of it – still didn't, and had struggled not to laugh, or be too offended because _surely_ she'd just called him effeminate. ...Which he most _certainly_ was not.

"It isn't important right now. We should hurry, the boss is waiting for us." One of the underling gang members said to the other.

Shay managed to keep up with them, and out of sight, all the way to docks. Standing near a crowd of busy merchants, he tried to eavesdrop on them as they met with their boss – a large, muscular black man wearing an Assassin's robe. Shay didn't know him, just that he needed to stay out of sight because the behemoth of a man would make mincemeat out of him in the shape he was in. He couldn't hear anything useful though, and ended up scrambling out of view as the dark-skinned Assassin came his way. He was a fearsome looking man, that was for sure. His long hair was bound into hundreds of small braids and gathered at the nape of his neck with a bit of gold ribbon. His face, and what Shay could see of his arms, were tattooed with some sort of tribal pattern. He handed a merchant a few coins in exchange for bullets for his pistols that hung at his waist, and headed toward a brig docked nearby.

Shay slunk around to get a closer look at the ship, using the crowd of merchants and sailors as cover – hiding in plain sight. She was called the _Lorelei_, according to the ornate engraving on the side of the bow. Her figurehead was a mermaid, and the sails were pale blue with golden accents. What Shay cared about were the six mortar cannons, and thirty broadside cannons. She had explosive shot and fire barrels too, by the look of it. In short, the _Lorelei _was armed to the teeth. He'd hate to cross her path, if her captain had any skill. She could take down a Man o' War with ease, if the crew knew how. Shay only hoped her captain wasn't as skilled as him, or the mysterious Cay who apparently led the _Aquila_.

He didn't dare get any closer, when he had no back-up and no way to survive a fight. He'd learned something, though. The Assassin who 'killed' him was not a woman, and he had a name – Cay. It seemed strange though, it had to be a pet name. It didn't sound like any native name he'd ever heard.

A group of gang members showed up near the middle of the docks, obviously about to start something. Shay decided it was high time to make himself scarce – or find a vantage point to watch the proceedings. Being in the thick of it wouldn't do any good, and he eventually decided on putting some distance between the docks and himself. Climbing was out of the question, so there wasn't really anywhere safe to be.

"Damn it." He complained, as he heard the beginnings of a riot starting in the area he'd just left. He should be there, gathering any information he could before putting a stop to it. He hoped he healed quickly, because he was at his wit's end as far as his patience was concerned. Shay's way of dealing with his emotional strife was through action – not sitting around in Haytham's office staring at maps and charts. He needed to _do _something. He was restless, more so than he had ever been.

He climbed the stone stairs that led to the mansion and leaned against the retaining wall halfway up them. He wheezed, and fell into a coughing fit. He'd overdone it. _Again._ At least he wasn't coughing up blood anymore.

"Shay! What are you doing out?" He looked up to see Haytham standing at the top of the stairs, he quickly went to Shay's side and helped him the rest of the way. Shay leaned heavily on Haytham as he caught his breath.

"Trying to be useful." He said in between gasps, and collapsed on a bench in the garden near a rosebush. Haytham sat beside him, and watched him obvious concern.

"Did you accomplish anything?" Haytham asked, unbuttoning Shay's collar to make sure he hadn't reopened the wound. Shay tried to stop him, but Haytham swatted his hands away.

"Not really. I learned the name of the _Aquila's _captain, a man named Cay." Shay told him as he inspected the bandaging that was still tightly in place. In a dark corner of Shay's mind, a little voice told him that he should enjoy Haytham undressing him. This time, he successfully pulled away from Haytham's touch and buttoned his shirt with shaking fingers. How badly did he need to get laid, if he was thinking such things about Haytham, of all people?

"Was he someone you knew?" The Grand Master inquired.

"No, Sir." Haytham knew something wasn't right with Shay, from the way he flinched away from him. That was unusual, at best. He wasn't a very tactile person, but he never particularly shied away from being touched, either. It was strange for him to be so distant.

"No matter." Haytham said vacantly and watched Shay out of the corner of his eye. When he gotten so protective of the Assassin hunter? Haytham was anything but sentimental, yet lately he found himself thinking of Shay more and more. Some of those thoughts, he hated to admit, weren't exactly with the purest of intentions. Even now, the notion of just slipping Shay's coat off his shoulders and pressing his lips to Shay's had crossed his mind as he checked over the bandaging. _There must be something wrong with me,_ he mused. 'Are you touched in the head?', He remembered Ziio asking him when they'd met for the second time, and wondered if maybe he was.

"Did you find anything of use, Sir?" Shay asked, breaking the silence but still staring expressionlessly at the flower garden.

"Not especially. I am going to leave tomorrow with William and Charles to investigate the location you uncovered in the maps. We should be gone maybe a month, it's west of Boston, after all." Haytham explained. Shay finally met his eyes, and looked up at him pleadingly.

"Can I come along as well? I'll avoid fighting and keep out of sight." Shay nearly begged.

"Very well, but please take care." Haytham said, caving in to the hope shining in his eyes. It was like saying no to a puppy that just wanted to be petted. ...And he really shouldn't think of Shay as a puppy, even if he did seem oddly innocent and naïve at times. The man was a trained killer, and a ruthless one at that.

* * *

"How much further is it? I can't stand this heat." Charles complained, hunched over with his head down to keep the sun off him. Even with the thick canopy of the trees above, the heat still permeated the dense woods. Charles' horse even looked rather put out. Shay and Haytham who were riding a ways ahead of him just ignored the whining. Really, it was the middle of summer and they were traveling to a remote, unsettled location west of Boston that their maps just happened to suggest _might_ hold something of importance. What was he expecting, exactly?

"Stop complaining, Charles. Think of the things we might discover here! God only knows what the Assassins are hiding." Johnson piped up and rode alongside him. "Perhaps we'll find a new precursor site by the end of the day."

"Or, we're walking right into a trap." Shay commented pessimistically. It was questionable whether or not he should be there, seeing as he was barely back on his feet, but he had insisted more than once to come along. Haytham hadn't bothered to argue. Even injured, Shay was sure to be a benefit – no matter what they found.

"Look, there's a clearing here!" Haytham said, pointing ahead of them. "Just over that hill, there."

"Oh! This must be Kanatahséton. It's a Kanien'kehá:ka village. I don't know much about it, but some of the correspondences from the Assassins suggests that they've worked together in the past. I've had some contact with them, but not much of any use. ...Aside from the ones we freed from that slaver." Johnson explained, looking ahead curiously at the native village that was just barely visible in the gully below them. Haytham slowed his horse; an oddly conflicted expression passed over his face.

"I know this place. I spent some time here a couple years ago. Though, I suppose it's kind of pathetic to admit I didn't know where it was on a map until now. Something wrong, Master Kenway?" Shay asked, falling back into step beside him.

"We should leave them in peace; there is nothing for us here." Haytham said to the others. Charles stared at him in utter disbelief and William had a look on his face like a kid that wasn't allowed to have sweets.

"If Shay's familiar with the tribe, perhaps it wouldn't hurt. We might still learn something." William protested. "What can you tell us about them? What did they have to do with the Assassins?"

"Clan, they're not a tribe technically. Well, they're peaceful. They hunt the local game, but they don't want any part in conflict with other tribes, or the colonists. They didn't 'work' with the Assassins like you're thinking, though. There was a very bad drought a couple years back that destroyed their crops. Some of their hunters came to us offering barter if we could trade with the colonists for the supplies they needed to survive. In exchange, they taught us quite a few useful things, like how to make poisons and medicines from the local plants, hunting and survival techniques to mention some of it. It was one of their hunters that taught me how to free run and climb trees, actually. I was only a novice when I visited here." Shay explained, and chuckled, shaking his head.

"Liam was smitten with the clan mother's daughter, as I recall. He sulked about for a month after she turned him down. She was an amazing woman, though – lethal with small weapons. Her little son tried to follow me home one day, actually." He said, smiling fondly at the memories.

"I don't see why we shouldn't pay a visit, then. Otherwise this would be a total waste of time." Charles grumbled.

"It wouldn't hurt. Achilles men won't be here; we never stayed, really. We just offered them protection from the colonists as best we could. They're not fond of outsiders, but they know me so they shouldn't think we're a threat." Shay replied. "Besides, I need to get off this horse. To say that I'm sore would be an understatement."

"Let's go then." William said, leading the way. Haytham heaved a sigh, and wasn't sure if he should dread the possibility of encountering Ziio again or look forward to it.

The friendly Kanien'kehá:ka greeted them kindly, the hunters standing guard outside the village remembered Shay and were overjoyed to see him well. He looked like he wanted to crawl in a hole when one of the two men asked how Hope and Kesegowaase had been faring. They had apparently told the villagers that Shay had left for a mission and not returned, so seeing him alive was welcome news to them.

"They are well, though working in Europe now. Perhaps they'll visit when they come home." Shay lied, seeing the knowing glance that Haytham gave him out of the corner of his eye. They settled around the large bonfire in the center of the village, exchanging stories with a few of the hunters and their wives.

It was some time near sunset, after most of the others had gone, when _he_ appeared. Cay. The color drained from Shay's face, but he was quicker this time, as he'd seen him first. His blade met the wood of the log Shay had been sitting on with thump, rather than his flesh. Though, throwing himself backwards had been a lot more painful than he wanted to admit.

"Traitor! How dare you set foot here! You should be dead!" The native Assassin that had been on-board the _Aquila _accused brandishing a stone dagger. His accent was heavily Irish, not unlike Shay's, which was somewhat surprising. He was fairer skinned than the other natives as well, with dark auburn hair full of braids that had brightly colored beads and feathers woven into them. His pale green eyes seemed to pierce right through to Shay's soul. He wasn't feminine up close, not really, he was just small and compact in build. ...Not that Shay had really gotten a good luck at him while he was busy being stabbed nearly to death.

"Cay! What is the meaning of this?" A voice familiar enough to make both Both Haytham and Shay turn around in surprise called to him. Ziio. She looked a bit older and more careworn than the last time Shay had seen her, but she seemed in good health. She still had the same aura of a natural born fighter, and stood her ground with ease.

"These traitorous -" The Assassin, Cay, began to explain.

"Haytham." Ziio gasped and narrowed her eyes, completely ignoring Cay. "Why are you here?"

"A navigational mistake actually, we mean your people no harm." Haytham said quickly, placing himself between Cay and Shay, who was struggling to get back up from where he'd landed spread-eagled on the ground after dodging Cay's attack. Ziio grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and hauled him upright without thinking much of it. Quietly, and somewhat shamefully, he thanked her.

"You are injured." She said, frowning. "I know you mean us no harm, but that does not explain much." Ziio added to Haytham.

"You'd best explain, because _I'm _the one who injured him almost two months ago now. It's a wonder he survived, and I intend to finish the job unless you find a good enough reason to dissuade me." Cay growled, but cringed when Ziio shot him an icy glare.

"Why?" Ziio inquired, not taking her eyes off Haytham. How had she known him? Shay couldn't figure it out. The precursor medallion, that he was still wearing under his clothes, maybe? Haytham had never mentioned the contact who'd shown him the first precursor site by name in his notes, only that it was a Mohawk woman.

"He is a -"

"Yes I'm a _traitor_. I've killed nearly all the Assassins." Shay admitted willingly and stared Cay down as best he could. "I had to. Did you hear about the quakes in Lisbon and Haiti?"

"Aye. Achilles says you lost your mind after you went after a piece of Eden in Lisbon. He isn't our mentor anymore; we don't have one. He lets us stay on his land, but he won't have any part of the fight. I can't blame him, what with what you've done to him." Cay replied.

"Both those quakes were caused by the Assassins meddling with powers they shouldn't have. When I tried to convince them that following that path only led to thousands of innocent people dying, they didn't care. They ignored me. So I stole the manuscript and fled. I work to _protect _people now. I only kill them if there's no other way. What would you have done, if you had been used as a tool to murder countless innocent people?" Shay ground out.

"A person can't cause an earthquake." Cay snarled.

"No, but a piece of Eden can. Think of a massive tree, whose branches are keeping the world in place. If those branches break, bits of the world start to crumble. That's what the maps in the manuscript led to – pieces of Eden that are like branches keeping the world together. And when you touch one..." Shay shook his head, haunted by the memories. "Achilles knew this, still he sent me there and tried to get to the other sites before I put a stop to the madness." Cay watched him silently for a moment, and stowed his dagger in his boot.

"I believe you. My reasons are my own, but we will talk later. We are all in danger here." He said flatly. "If you really have good will toward these people, then help me. Washington's men approach. I came here hoping to find some others that can fight, but there are only the women... They will burn the village if we cannot stop them. The hunters are on their way, but they are not enough against their guns and sheer numbers."

"Damn. For what it matters, we did not lead them here." Haytham said, handing Cay back his other dagger.

"I know that, they came from the east. You came from the south." The Assassin retorted, slipping the dagger into a leather sheath on his thigh. "The hunters will distract Washington's men. What I need you to do is find the children playing in the woods and bring them to safety. If you harm them, or betray me in any way, you will breathe your last before sundown. When this over, then we will sort out our differences. You have my word."

William, Haytham and Charles went to find the children – leaving Shay behind as he wasn't much use in a fight if it came to blows with Washington's men.

"How do you know Haytham? And what's Cay's story?" Shay asked Ziio as he followed her to the clan mother's hut to make sure she would be safe. She kept a close watch on him with her dark, yet soft eyes as she led the way.

"Haytham and I once worked together to eliminate a threat to my people, in turn I tried to help him uncover the secret of an amulet he possessed." Ziio answered. "Cay, his real name is Caelan Martin. He has a twin brother called Kelly. Their father was an Assassin who once belonged to our people, but he married a white woman. Other than that, I know very little about them. Kelly I have only met once; he refuses to get caught up in your age-old conflict – other than tying to keep his brother alive. He is the smart and cautious one. Cay is fiery and impulsive, but he is kind and means well."

"Ah, all right then." Shay replied, it made sense. Haytham knew of Ziio's people, and Cay _obviously_ had some European blood in him, so Ziio's answer made sense. "Is Ratonhnhaké:ton with the other children?" Shay asked next, thinking of Ziio's little son who had followed him all around the village when he visited, sticking to him like glue the way children do when they find someone they're fond of.

"Yes." Ziio told him worriedly, and watched him curiously for a moment. "I suppose I should tell Haytham that he is his son." Shay nearly stumbled and stared at her with his mouth open in shock. Prim and proper Haytham had an affair with a native woman? Well, _that_ was something else.

Shay was still rendered somewhat speechless when they entered the clan mother's longhouse. She looked up at them and smiled warmly when she recognized Shay. Oiá:ner was pretty much that same as he remembered her, ancient with an air of wisdom. He winced when she embraced him and patted him on the shoulder.

"You are in pain." Oiá:ner observed, motioning for him to sit on the ground beside her. Shay politely declined, giving her a genuine smile.

"Not much to do about it, aside from let it heal." Shay assured her.

"This happened over a month ago, yes? Cay must have nearly killed you." Ziio said with concern.

"_Very_ nearly." Shay confirmed, looking at the ground and feeling oddly shameful over the whole thing. He should be helping Haytham and the others find the children, not staying here hiding.

It was the sudden cacophony of gunshots that shattered the silence following Shay's statement. Some of Washington's men had made it into the village.


End file.
